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The sharp rapping of Hermione's knuckles on the door echoed down the empty hallway of the apartment building. She frowned at the door as it remained closed, then, after a few long moments of impatient toe-tapping, she raised her hand to knock again. But before her closed fist could make contact with the polished wood of the door a second time, strong fingers wrapped around her wrist and held tight.
"I'm not so sure this is a good idea," Ron said.
Hermione sighed and turned to face him. "And what exactly about it is a bad idea?" she shot back. "Our best friend has been missing for two days now. He's not responding to owls. His Floo is closed. We're worried about him! Of course we'd come to check on him. It makes sense." Her raised eyebrows dared him to say otherwise.
"Yeah, well, you know how Harry is about his privacy," Ron pointed out. "Especially since that last Skeeter article..."
They both shuddered. Recently it had come to light that the Boy Who Lived chased the Quaffle for both teams, as it were. Skeeter had somehow managed to track down one of the men Harry had dated and gotten him to sing like a back-stabbing, traitorous little bird. The article was scathing and demeaning and, of course, had been published in five parts. The torment had dragged out for an entire week, and on the last day the article had culminated with a fanciful piece of speculation about how poor widdle Harry's uncle had taken advantage of him as a defenseless child and that had somehow turned the Golden Boy into a cock-loving pervert. Skeeter had dressed it up in prettier words but the sentiment shone through.
"All the more reason why we're doing the right thing by coming here," Hermione said firmly. "He didn't take that article well at all."
That was something of an understatement. Harry had stormed his way through the Prophet's building until he came to Skeeter's offices, which he'd promptly set on fire. It was a shame that they'd been unoccupied at the time, in Hermione's humble opinion. Although he'd sent over payment for the repairs, his rampage had sparked (no pun intended) another set of articles by Skeeter about how the Great Harry Potter had finally come unhinged. That was last week, and Harry had seemed fine. But now he'd vanished.
"Besides," Hermione continued, rapping her fist again upon the door. "It likely doesn't matter anyhow. He doesn't seem to be home." She sighed and rummaged through her bag. "Have you got a spare bit of parchment on you? I'd like to leave him a note so when he gets back--"
The door swung open and Hermione jerked her head up.
"Harry!"
"Hermione? Ron? What’s going on?"
Hermione's hands flew to her mouth as she gasped. Oh, she knew she was right to come here! Harry wore only his dressing gown, and what skin it failed to cover was flushed and damp with sweat. His hair stuck up even more wildly than it usually did, and his eyes were round and a bit glassy behind the spectacles that sat askew upon his face. He paused to nudge them back up the bridge of his nose and one shoulder of the dressing gown slipped a little, revealing a large red and purple welt just where his neck and shoulder sloped together.
He was clearly ill. Without a second thought, she barged past him.
"Why didn't you tell us?" she demanded, mentally cataloguing the symptoms of spattergroit and scrofungulus and dragon pox. What other wizarding diseases caused marks on the skin?
She didn't think that his skin could flush any further, but somehow he turned pinker.
"Well," Harry said, eyes darting. "It just sort of... happened. Really, um, fast."
"And several times, from the look of it," Ron muttered. "Mate, you've got a little..." He gestured vaguely at his own shoulder.
Harry glanced down at the welt and yanked his dressing gown back into place. "I would have told you, um, eventually."
"That's no excuse!" Tea, Harry should have tea, Hermione decided. She bustled for the kitchen and set a pot of water to heating with a flick of her wand. "You should have told me the instant it happened. I'd have come running right over!"
Harry's eyes goggled. "You would have?"
"Or Molly, if I were busy."
Harry sputtered and choked on his words. "Or Molly?" he managed at last.
Ron had one hand pressed over his face. “Oh Merlin,” he muttered into his palm.
"Of course! Either one of us would have been right over to help!" Hermione fisted her hands on her hips and glared. "You know that!"
"I certainly didn't." Harry looked positively bewildered. Poor dear, he must be feverish.
"Well you should have," she said, her voice gentler. "Either one of us would have been right over to help you."
"Hermione," Ron spoke up. "I don't think he needs help. And I think we should go. Now. Before this gets even more awkward than it already has."
"Go? But he clearly needs help. He's sick!"
"Sick?" Harry snapped back at her. "What the hell! You of all people shouldn't believe a lie that woman writes about me."
Hermione froze. "What."
"Ugh, that damn article! What I do and to whom I do it is nobody's damn business but my own!" Harry snapped, his eyes blazing.
"Who you..." A cold dread crept over Hermione and she trailed off. She took in Harry's unruly hair and flushed skin again. The welt on his neck, his state of undress... "Oh my god," she murmured.
"Yes. Oh my god. Can we go now?" Ron plead.
Harry blinked. "Wait. What are you..." He looked down at himself. "Oh. Oh! You thought I was sick sick."
Hermione nodded and allowed Ron to tug her a few steps closer to the door. "We hadn't seen you for two days. I was worried."
"You shouldn't have been," a voice said from behind them. "I assure you that I've been taking good care of him. Extremely good care of him."
Hermione whirled around and her heart dropped to her toes. Because there in the doorway to Harry's bedroom, wearing only a sheet loosely clasped around his waist, was Draco Malfoy. He looked nearly as flushed as Harry and his sleek hair was mussed. But his voice was calm, and the only word that sprang to Hermione's mind as his hot gaze raked over Harry was ‘predatory.’ When he smiled it was all teeth.
Hermione reached behind her and groped for Ron's hand. She found it and squeezed tight. "You're right, Ron," she said without taking her eyes from Malfoy. "We should go."
Harry jammed a hand through his hair. "No, wait. You're right. I should have told you sooner. It's just that at first I wanted to be sure it was something that would last. I mean, I know Malfoy's, well, Malfoy. And I didn't want to upset you over something that was just a fling. But then it went on and I didn't know how to tell you and, well..." He waved a hand helplessly.
"How, er, how long exactly has that," She waved her hand in an imitation of his, "been going on for?"
"Three months," Malfoy spoke up. "To the day, as it happens. And as you can see you're rather interrupting our celebration. So if you wouldn't mind?" He flicked his wrist in a shooing motion.
"Gladly," Ron said and went for the door, dragging Hermione along with him.
"No no no, wait!" Hermione dug her heels in. "Harry? You're happy? With him?"
Harry cast a smoldering glance at Malfoy, who preened a bit beneath the attention. "Very."
"Then I'm happy for you," she said with a tentative smile."Of course it will take some getting used to, but your happiness is what comes first."
A sudden smile lit Harry's face like the sun bursting through the clouds on a rainy afternoon. "Aw, Hermione. Thank you. I was afraid you wouldn't understand--"
"Sweet Merlin's saggy bloomers," Malfoy spat. "Are we all going to hold hands while we confess our feelings and then sing nursery rhymes to each other?" He looked at the blank faces that turned to stare at him. "What? That's what I always imagined you lot spent your time in Gryffindor doing." He sighed and rolled his eyes, then locked his gaze onto Harry. "Potter. Get rid of them."
"Malfoy," Harry mocked. "They're my friends. I'm not just going to kick them out of my flat."
"Really." Malfoy said it like a challenge.
"Really." And Harry had never been able to resist a challenge from Malfoy.
They stared at each other. Ron edged closer to the door.
"Well," Malfoy said, raising one perfectly arched eyebrow at Harry. "If you're in the bedroom in the next sixty seconds, I'll let you do that thing." He turned around and somehow managed to make a regal exit despite his bedsheet attire.
Hermione's eyes narrowed. "What thing?"
"No. Harry, do not answer that. Hermione, we are leaving," Ron said firmly, giving her arm another tug.
Harry looked at her, his eyes wide and desperate. Concerned, Hermione dug in her heels again. "Really, I want to know. What thing?"
"I absolutely don't know," Ron began.
"The thing, Ron. You know. The thing," Harry said.
Ron sighed. "I was trying to pretend otherwise. Go on, I'll get rid of her if I have to carry her out. You just. Well, you just have fun and please don't ever mention another word about it to me ever again. Ever."
Harry bolted for the bedroom. "Thanks, Ron!" he shouted back.
"Come on," Ron told Hermione.
"Really, I want to know. What thing is he talking about?"
Ron turned to stare at her, and there was something like fear in his eyes. "Come on,” he repeated. “We've got to go. Now."
She yanked her elbow free and folded both arms over her chest. She hated not knowing things that everyone else knew. "I'm not going until you tell me."
He sighed, cast a worried look at the hallway, then leaned down to whisper in her ear. Hermione's eyes widened and she gasped.
"No!"
"Yes."
Hermione tried to imagine it and immediately regretted the attempt. "No!"
"Yes! I assure you I've listened to one too many conversations with him about it to be mistaken."
"But... I don't even think that's physically possible. Is it physically possible?"
"I promise you I have no idea, but I do know that if we stay here we're going to listen to them give it their best effort."
Hermione's eyes widened further. "We've got to leave!" She grabbed Ron by the arm and practically dragged him to the door. Behind them, the teakettle began to whistle on the stove just before the door slammed shut. In the bedroom, Malfoy laughed.